


A Crash Course in Someone Else's History

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is captured inside a trapping circle of holy oil set by Dean and Sam Winchester. The brothers call him "Cas", claiming that he has amnesia and that he is obligated to help them take down Crowley to atone for his betrayal of them. It's the strangest story Castiel's ever heard, and one he doesn't have time for because he's only just raised Dean from Hell and has work to get back to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Crash Course in Someone Else's History

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dean/Cas Big Bang 2012.
> 
>  
> 
> [Artwork by moonliteknight!](http://moonliteknight.livejournal.com/6498.html)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to ofalexandra for the beta work, remaining mistakes are my own.

Castiel believes in a great many of things, but bad luck isn’t one of them. He understands the desire to put a label on the universe’s tendency to be inconvenient, but ‘luck’ is a simplistic excuse. Especially in a world where Trickster Gods run rampant and the Fates are notorious for having the most complicated paperwork in all of Heaven.

Regardless of the actual complexity of the world, Castiel is an angel of the Lord, and thus knows that everything happens for a reason.

Take, for example, how he’d almost shattered Dean Winchester’s eardrums. _That_ had clearly been to highlight Castiel’s folly in spending time following Dean out from his grave when he should have been coaxing Jimmy Novak towards his purpose. Lesson learned, mitigation performed, and Castiel had dutifully retreated to collect his vessel for a better introduction.

So it doesn’t seem fair when Castiel opens his newly-acquired human eyes, only to find himself in the middle of a circle of holy fire.

Holy _fire_ , which should be impossible but apparently isn’t. The building beyond is wooden and small, with windows that overlook a nighttime forest.

The fact that Dean Winchester himself is right there, watching Castiel from beyond the flames, is a small consolation.

“Cas.” It’s Sam who’s spoken, his voice resonating oddly in Castiel’s newly-acquired human ears. The younger Winchester is a tall figure, stepping out from the shadows to approach the trapping circle. “We need to talk.”

This isn’t how Castiel had pictured meeting the Righteous Man, and he can’t even concede it an improvement over shattered glass raining on Dean’s head. Dean isn’t even saying anything, his face an inscrutable mask distorted by the flickering light of the fire.

“Cas, you listening?”

Castiel clamps on the rebuke rising in his throat. One would think they’d have learned their lesson from the disaster of their psychic’s summoning, but apparently not. This new summoning is not only successful, but it’s also more powerful, having apparently pulled Castiel clear across the ether with only a little disorientation through his grace.

Though admittedly humans have been playing with things they don’t understand for a very long time.

Bobby Singer storms forward, spitting, “What the hell did you do with Visyak, you son of a bitch?” When Castiel doesn’t answer, he snarls, “Well?”

“Is that the name of your psychic friend?” Castiel says. “I warned her to turn back, yet she persisted. Only a few have the ability to look upon my true face without consequence, and she was just… not one of them.”

Singer stares at Castiel for a long moment, brows snapping together and subsiding. He turns to the Winchesters for something – confirmation, perhaps. Sam makes a small gesture with his arms, and then they’re looking at Dean.

 _Everyone_ seems naturally drawn to Dean, who is unmoved from where the room’s darker corners crowd close upon him like a cloak.

He looks tired, Castiel thinks. Worn down, wary, tense. Castiel can’t fault him for any of that, for although he’d sewn Dean together the best he could, only their Father has the true skill in such matters. Castiel had hoped that he could deliver this message to Dean’s ears only – such has always been the way, even if Dean isn’t a prophet – but the taut line of Dean’s body makes Castiel think that he needs to hear this, no matter who else is listening as well.

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel says. “I bring you good tidings.”

“Cas—” Sam starts.

“I was speaking to Dean.” Castiel doesn’t react when Sam falls silent. “You have questions, and I have come. We are not foes.”

Singer growls, “Damn you to hell, we’re not.” He trails off when Dean stands up.

Castiel feels excitement rippling through grace – that same excitement that had made him speak to Dean ahead of schedule. He is better prepared now, standing his ground while Dean unfolds himself like a statue stirring awake, ready to receive Heaven’s word.

But when Dean approaches the circle of flames, Castiel has this sudden, abrupt sense of wrong.

This man is older. Grey. There’s murk and jagged edges in his thoughts. He shouldn’t remember so quickly – Castiel had been careful to wipe away the worst of the Hell decay when he’d woven Dean’s soul back together, yet it’s clear now that some of that work has come undone.

“Who are you?” Castiel demands. “What have you done?”

“I should be asking you that,” Dean snaps. “Who are _you_?”

“Castiel, Angel of the Lord. But you already knew that.” Castiel cants his head in a gesture to the holy fire. “This oil is very rare and precious, and there are few still living who know its true worth. Yet here we are. Who is your source?”

“Uh,” Sam says slowly, “Cas, we got the oil from you, remember—”

“Wait,” Dean says sharply. “Why’d you bring up Pamela, Cas?” He’s gone still and thoughtful. His eyes sweep up and down Castiel’s vessel, and though he has only a man’s vision, Castiel has the feeling that he sees more than Jimmy.

The wrongness now grates like knives along Castiel’s hands, the more so because he cannot pinpoint its source.

“You’ve been poisoned,” Castiel says quietly.

“Answer the goddamn question,” Dean snaps. “Why bring her up now? What were you doing before we summoned you?”

The others will have to be informed, and Zachariah may have to open another line of approach. Castiel burns away the knot of disappointment threatening to twist inside him, because there are bigger things to worry about.

“Answer the question, Cas!” Dean shouts.

“Be calm.” Castiel is alone here, and he needs to buy time and think. “All your questions have their answers, but I have questions of my own. This isn’t helping. Break the line. Let me out.”

“So you can flutter off?” Dean scoffs. “Yeah, bite me.”

“You have no idea what you’re dealing—”

“Would it kill you to give a straight answer some time this century?” Dean brandishes a blade, the length of it glinting ominously. For a moment Castiel cannot understand what he’s seeing, because that’s an _angel’s_ sword in a human hand.

Castiel’s alarm must be visible, because Dean starts and slowly lowers the weapon.

Sam moves close to Dean’s side, grabbing his elbow. “Dean,” he says urgently. “Dean, I think Cas is—”

“Running for the title role in King of Dick? Yeah, I’m getting that.” The brothers exchange looks – Sam’s more solemn than Dean’s – before turning to Bobby. “Hold him down for a while, would ya?”

This is a disaster. Someone has made an error and Castiel will find out who it is and claim his explanations. Castiel says, “There’s something very wrong here.”

Bobby glares at him. “You think?”

Castiel watches the brothers file from the room, presumably to regroup and discuss their strategy. Castiel should do the same, albeit alone. He’s been in far worse traps and faced far more menacing guards in his past, and one glowering man in a beard is not going to make Castiel lose sight of what’s at stake.

Clearly, someone is trying to sabotage the plan.

  
  


* * *

 

The list of possible suspects is short but troubling. The most obvious clue is Dean’s weapon: the angel sword, which is now in the care of Bobby Singer while Dean’s conference with his brother proceeds in the adjoining room. Castiel doubts that Dean knows what the blade really is, what is made of and how it was forged. If he did, he wouldn’t be brandishing it so carelessly.

“Do you feel sorry?” Bobby says. “ _At all_?”

The other matter of concern is that Castiel’s senses appear to have been tampered with, magic lingering around the vessel like stubborn shadows. Castiel had initially thought these to be leftover from the summoning, but they seem to be more malicious, and persistently unidentifiable.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” Bobby shouts.

“Nobody’s stopping you,” Castiel replies.

The fact is, the trapping circle is doing more than keeping Castiel within its boundaries. Castiel’s powers have been tempered, leaving him bound and earthed. There is other magic at play here, leaving behind the grooves of demon fingers and other unknown powers.

In the interim, Castiel has to salvage the situation and manufacture his escape.

The Winchesters return the room looking more pensive than when they’d left. Sam appears restless, ducking his head to signal Dean with his eyebrows. Dean himself seems stoic and unimpressed as he comes to stand in front of the ring of fire.

Castiel stares back. It occurs to him that he’d not been this close to Dean since he’d knitted his flesh together. Dean may be awake _now_ , but he’s no more appreciative of Castiel’s presence. Instead, he’s crassly demanding: “I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to answer me.”

“No,” Castiel replies.

“No?” Dean glances back at Sam, who makes a shooing gesture with his hands. Castiel waits until Dean sighs and turns back to him, saying in a controlled voice, “I’ll ask you question, and if you answer me, I will answer one of your questions. That a fair deal?”

“Better.” Castiel nods. “I shall ask first. Who taught you how to make this binding circle?”

Sam jerks, triumph in the way he nods at Bobby. More interesting than that, though, is the way that Dean grimaces.

“That was you,” Dean says. “You taught me about all that angel-proofing. The holy oil is just one of them.” Castiel is still trying to parse this when Dean continues, “Cas, what were you doing before we summoned you? _Don’t_ ask why I’m asking. Just answer the question. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Castiel glances down at the body. “I’d collected this. My vessel.”

“Told you!” Sam blurts out.

Castiel’s gaze snaps to him. “What?”

“Um. Sorry, I’m sorry,” Sam says, flustered, "I know this must be really confusing for you, but we’re just as lost as you are. We’re trying to figure out—”

“Cas hasn’t lost it,” Dean cuts in. “This is just – he’s just—” He jumps when Sam starts grabbing at his clothes. “Look, man, I love you like a brother because you actually are my brother, so don’t take this the wrong way—”

“Come on, just show him,” Sam says hurriedly. He presses past Dean’s resistance, tugging pointedly at his outer shirt. “Show him, Dean!”

Castiel could protest the wisdom of what they’re doing, but he’s curious. There must be some goal to this, which is revealed when Dean bats Sam’s hands away and shoves sleeve up past the joint of his shoulder.

“You looking at this, Cas?” Dean asks. “What do you see?”

Castiel sees skin. Well-preserved skin, with a few scars.

“Your handprint used to be here,” Dean says irritably. “Right here, where you – _you know_ , you gripped me tight and raised me from Perdition.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “That’s a way of putting it.”

“Well, yeah, that’s how … never mind.” Dean hastily pulls his sleeve back down. “The point is, the thing we’re trying to say is—”

“That was three years ago.” Sam frowns in confusion, and nudges at Dean again. “Or is it four? It’s kinda fuzzy—”

“Almost four,” Dean says firmly.

Castiel shifts his attention from Dean to Sam and back. They’re not doing a very good job of convincing him, but their discomfort and clumsiness somehow makes their apparent belief in this all the more genuine. Castiel’s observed them at work, seen the ease with which they use lies for their purpose, but the words they speak now have none of that confidence. “I see,” he says noncommittally.

Bobby makes a disbelieving sound. “Are you saying we’re back at Level Zero with Cas? Right now? Of all times?”

“So you believe I have amnesia,” Castiel says. “Very well. Open the circle and I will listen to your story.”

“No!” Dean and Bobby shout together.

“Then we are at an impasse.” Castiel relaxes the vessel’s arms by his sides, a reasonable imitation of a human being at ease. “Make your decision.”

  
  


* * *

 

Castiel doesn’t know why he was chosen above others to pull Dean out from Hell. He isn’t as fearsome as Rachel or as focused as Uriel, yet Heaven picked him anyway. He’s curious, but on some level, he’d rather not know. To assume that the choice had been due to some trait of Castiel’s that’s absent in others would be narcissistic, so Castiel hadn’t. Doesn’t.

Better to focus on doing a good job. He’d even thought he’d done well, the psychic’s eyes notwithstanding.

Castiel’s current orders are specific: he is to introduce himself to Dean and deliver the good news of his return being an order from God. Yet Castiel has failed at the first, and Dean refuses to listen to anything that might help Castiel fulfill the second. Frustration is his current companion, it seems.

Dean and Castiel are not allies, and Castiel doesn’t know the full extent of Dean’s purpose in the Great Plan, but surely antagonism isn’t the only other option.

Castiel watches Dean now where he’s retreated to a corner of the room for another quick argument with his brother. Castiel’s hearing has been affected by the same spell, limiting his range as it has his eyes, but he can pick out the essence of their disagreement. Sam is pressing Dean to continue the plan and to talk to Castiel, to which Dean is protesting that he can’t, or doesn’t want to – that part is unclear.

“You boys better get a move on!” Bobby calls out.

That will be to their disadvantage, then. They will rush and be clumsy.

In the end, it’s Sam who comes forward. He does it slowly, cautiously, as though he’s the only one here who has any real understanding of what Castiel is. Castiel doesn’t think that Ruby could have known of the angels’ return to the Earth, but that demon has proven to be unnaturally resourceful, and he should not put it past her.

“Castiel, I know you don’t want to talk to me,” Sam says, almost stuttering, “but don’t you – don’t you have angel vision? Can’t you _see_ me? Do you see any demon blood in me? Right now?”

“That’s not important,” Castiel says. “I wish to hear your argument. Proceed.”

Sam pauses. “Cas, I remember how… it was a big deal for you. It _is_ a big deal for you.” He holds Castiel’s gaze for a long moment before sighing and straightening up, giving up the pretense of making himself seem smaller and less threatening. “Dean, you’ve _really_ got to handle this.”

Dean, who is is back to hiding in shadow, barks, “I can’t—”

“Dean!” Sam snaps. He marches back to Dean, sharing more furious whispers of, _it has to be you, you did it before, come on, please, we need to find Crowley._

Crowley, Demon King of the Crossroads?

This time when Dean approaches, Castiel does him the favor of cutting to the quick. “Do you know what I am? _Really_ know?”

“Yeah.” There’s a slight lilt at the end of the syllable, as though Dean’s unsure whether he should phrase it a question. The fact remains, though, that Dean keeps looking at him like he only sees the vessel: a dark-haired, pale man who is very slightly shorter than Dean himself, as if that is all there is to Castiel.

Which is why Castiel has no doubt whatsoever when he declares, “No, I don’t think you do.”

“Cas,” Dean drawls, smirking around the shortened name. “I know plenty about you. More than you think. And definitely way more than you know about me.”

“Really?”

“I know you have doubts,” Dean says.

Castiel has to briefly turn away to compose the vessel’s face. He must remember that this is Dean Winchester of great purpose. It wouldn’t do to insult him or belittle his delusions of familiarity. “Then your information is faulty,” Castiel replies. “The purpose of the angel is to phrase the righteousness of Heaven. Do you believe in Heaven, Dean?”

“Oh, I know Heaven’s _there_ ,” Dean scoffs. “Don’t know if it’s worth believing in, though.”

“Dean,” Sam hisses.

“Shut up, I know.” Dean sighs. “Cas, look. It really doesn’t matter if you believe whether you have amnesia or not. The fact is, you’re standing knee-deep in the present, and the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t is but a fading sight in our rearview mirror. You’re going to have to deal with that.”

Castiel feels a tremor of shock at hearing the word _Apocalypse_ in Dean’s mouth. He almost berates the man for throwing the term about so easily, but it’s clear now that this Dean regards many things with casual disdain, angels and apocalypses being the least of them. Castiel has enough restraint not to demand him to elaborate. “What do you want?”

“Nothing! Nothing, we don’t… Okay, yeah, there’s something.”

“Tell me what it is.” Dean takes a shaky breath and Castiel has the wry thought of: oh, _this_ he treats with gravity.

“There’s a demon.” Dean must be referring to Crowley. “He’s got this bad, bad, _very bad_ idea that could destroy the world as we know it. So we want to stop him. And we need you to help us do it.”

“I shall consider.”

Castiel looks down. One final flick of his fingers and he’s pulled enough dust from the cracks of the floor over where the oil line is thinnest. The break in the line of fire is small, but not small enough that Castiel cannot reach through it and use his grace to grab the nearest table.

There is shouting, followed by the hum of the angel blade being wielded. Castiel ignores it all, dragging the table over the fire.

Castiel takes a step over his make-shift bridge and looks up at the three shocked faces. “Where shall I start?”

That is rhetorical question, because Dean is first, of course. Dean gets out maybe half a breath of protest before Castiel’s up in his face, grabbing his shirt and slamming him against the wall.

“Back, Sam!” Dean grunts. Both his hands claw uselessly around the one Castiel is using to hold him still. “I got this.”

“Do you?” Castiel asks calmly. He lets out his wings, pulling them just enough into this plane that they drag lightning through the air and cast shadows that Dean can see. Castiel tracks Dean’s contracted pupils, how they flicker and follow this tiny glimpse of Castiel’s true form. Castiel reaches out his free hand behind him; there’s a flustered gasp, and the angel sword that had been in Sam’s hand now lands solidly in Castiel’s. “How in control do you feel, Dean?”

Dean’s pulse is erratic, his breath coming out in short bursts. To see Dean like this – uncertainty and fear pooling in his eyes – is satisfying in a way that even breaking the trap wasn’t.

Eventually Dean manages to choke out a, “That hurts, you dick,” that sounds surprised, almost offended. He claws at Castiel’s forearm, fingernails trying to catch the cloth of Jimmy’s cuffs, stopping when he finds it useless. “Quit it, I can’t breathe.”

Castiel eases the pressure on Dean’s sternum, but doesn’t let up entirely. “And whose fault is that?”

The smell of newly spilled blood curves through the air. Castiel turns, catching sight of Bobby Singer drawing on the wall. It takes another second for Castiel to recognize the marks, but who can blame him for reaction slower than normal, for no one on Earth should know that spell.

“Bobby—” Dean gasps.

Bobby’s hand comes down. The banishing spell is a wall, slamming into Castiel with the force to fling him clear across the Earth. Castiel closes his eyes and fights the instinct to throw his wings out – because to fight it is to make it worse – but something is wrong.

The banishing spell pushes but somewhere in the middle of it, something else _pulls._

The pain is unexpected, blades slicing through his grace as the two opposing forces crash into each other. Something shatters when Castiel screams, but that’s a faraway thing because the immediate world is a hurricane, alight and roaring.

Then, darkness.

  
  


* * *

 

Castiel does wake up eventually.

All his limbs are intact, even, which is excellent. Less excellent is the fact that he’s lying in a bed, of which Dean Winchester is sitting near.

“It’s not even like we went out in a bad way,” Dean’s saying. There’s a petulant, childish undercurrent to his words, even though as far as Castiel can tell there’s no one else in the room to argue back at him. “You seemed to have a pretty good handle on it so I though… Why would you even – where’d you even _get_ that idea, you moron?”

Castiel keeps still, his eyes closed.

“You could’ve come to us.” Dean sighs, voice dropping to a low, unhappy growl. “Why didn’t you come to me? I don’t get it, Cas, you’re supposed to be smarter than that. Going it alone too long fucks with your head. And you weren’t. Even. Alone.”

This sounds personal. In Castiel’s experience, betrayal can only move into the space left behind by trust.

Castiel opens his eyes.

Dean starts, head almost snapping backward in his surprise. The tension is still there, the vibrations almost physical things rising off his body. “You’re awake.”

“Yes,” Castiel replies.

“You remember anything?”

“It depends on what you mean by anything.” The vessel’s limbs are surprisingly heavy, forcing Castiel to be sluggish and slow when he sits up. Around him is an unfamiliar metal room lined with iron and salt, an exhaust fan spinning steadily above their heads.

“Let’s try another question,” Dean says wryly. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.” Castiel looks down at Jimmy’s shirt, where blood has dried and settled in the white. He touches the cloth, relieved that he has enough access to his powers to be able to clean it. “Grounded.” He freezes.

There’s a locking ring around his wrist. It’s faint but unmistakable, a thin circlet of power that wraps cleanly around the vessel to the body underneath. Castiel hadn’t noticed it earlier, but certainly does now, raising it up to show at Dean. “What is this?” he demands.

Dean responds with a blank look. “What is what?”

“What is _this_.” Castiel practically shoves Jimmy’s hand in his face, but Dean continues to not understand. Apparently the loop of binding power is too subtle for even the Righteous Man to see, which makes Castiel wonder if there’s anything useful about Dean Winchester at all. “Never mind.”

“Don’t you ‘never mind me’,” Dean snaps. “What is it?”

“There is a lock here.” Castiel points to his wrist, but it’s clear despite Dean’s squinting attempts that he can see nothing but air. “This may have been what cancelled out the banishing spell. I’m bound.”

“Bound to what?”

The light moves when Dean does, catching the even thinner gossamer line of power trailing down from the ring. Castiel exhales with a hiss. “You. The anchor is on your corresponding hand.”

“What, really?” Dean raises his hands up to the light curiously. “You can see it? Sorry, of course you can see it. So you’re saying we’re stuck together?”

“Dean, did you make this spell?”

“I don’t even know how to make it.” Dean rolls his eyes when Castiel stares at him steadily. “No, Cas. It’s not mine. Of course it isn’t.”

“There is nothing _of course_ about this, Dean.” Castiel’s trying to be calm, he really is. “I think you and I can agree that neither one of us can afford to take anything for granted.” He pulls his hand, testing the give of the chain. Dean has been able to move around, so there must be some length to it. “It must belong to whoever is responsible for putting us both here.”

Dean’s sudden smile is unexpected. “Maybe someone wanted us to make up.” The smile fades. “That was a joke.”

“I see.” Castiel tries to get to his feet but the vessel rebels. Pain twists in Jimmy’s body from various angles, insisting that Castiel stays prone and useless. Castiel glares up at Dean, who’s by now hovering over him.

“We’ll find out what’s happening,” Dean says. “We’ll fix this.”

It’s probably too much to hope that Uriel and Hester are looking for Castiel now. His sense of time may be obscured, but Zachariah had been clear that Castiel was to be allowed sufficient leave to pace out his making contact with Dean. Castiel trusts the garrison enough to hold the line and watch the seals, but a missing angel is still an entire sword denied Heaven’s use. He is wasting time here.

Dean sighs. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“I know who you are,” Castiel answers flatly. “You’re the one who set up a trap for me.”

“That’s… it’s complicated, okay?” Curiously, that might be remorse in the way Dean averts his eyes. Remorse and guilt, which makes for an interesting change over the bullheaded anger of their earlier encounter. If he is trying to snag Castiel with a lie then he is doing a poor job of it; there is too much contradiction in his story, and not enough seduction.

“This is not how I planned this to go, Dean, but let me complete what I have come to do.” Castiel waits until Dean meets his gaze expectantly. “Your rescue from Hell was commanded by God, and it is said—”

Dean’s laugh is bitter and loud. Castiel balks, shocked at how much he wants to slice that sound out from his throat.

“You know what,” Dean drawls, “I’m gonna do you a favor and not even touch that. I know this must be one hell of a trip for you. I know what it’s like to have all these gaps in your head—” Castiel most certainly does not have gaps in any of his heads, “—but we can work it together. I’m here if you wanna listen to what I got to say. I don’t care whether you think it’s a joke or not, you and me got history together.”

“You brandished an angel sword on me,” Castiel reminds him.

“Like I said, complicated.” Dean slowly gets to his feet, knees creaking in the quiet. “You get your rest. I’ll be right back.”

If Dean were a sane man, he wouldn’t leave Castiel alone in the room. Apparently he is not a sane man.

This is not what Castiel had hoped for at all.

  
  


* * *

 

It takes a few hours of meditative unconsciousness, but Castiel heals up. His access to Heaven’s power is limited, but he manages to stitch up his true form and Jimmy’s body as well as he can.

Dean is in an adjacent room, close enough that the bonding chain is little more than a faint tug around Castiel’s wrist. Castiel brings his hand up to his face, sniffing at the link for a hint of its origins. He can’t see much in this form, so he pulls out one of his wings to prod at the spell.

“The fuck!” comes Dean’s shout.

Castiel has already tucked his wing back in when Dean and his brother come running in, flashlights out and on to illuminate their way in the darkened room.

“If you wanted water or something, couldn’t you have just called?” Dean yells. “Now we gotta change all the lightbulbs.”

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says. “You’re looking better.”

“Some things are clearer to me now.” Castiel gets to his feet, ignoring the imperfections in his vessel’s head that make his vision swim. “You thought me responsible for taking this Visyak, your friend. The way you act and react around me tells me that this is a story of treachery. You must tell me this story now.”

Dean and Sam share a quick look, and then Dean’s raising his hands in a placating gesture. “You’ve had a rough patch, Cas, maybe we should take it slow—

“This.” Castiel raises his hand. He flicks at the link, the barest touch of his grace enough to light up the tensile chain. “I have studied it and it appears that this was cast by _me_. Why would I do that?”

Dean and Sam have backed up a handful of steps in response to Castiel’s stalking towards them. The glint of the angel sword behind Sam’s back makes Castiel pause, considering his options.

“A lot’s changed, Cas,” Sam says. “The world’s moved on without you and—”

Castiel inhales sharply. “I’m not going to talk to you. You – you’re probably responsible for this somehow, you and your—”

“Hey!” Dean yells. “You don’t talk to Sam like that. You’re in shock, I get it, but we’re actually trying to help.”

“You have a sword,” Castiel points out. “How does that help me?”

“Fine, you want to know?” Dean huffs. “You and me – I mean, the _current_ you and me, are not in a good place right now. We’re in the middle of a… let’s call it a disagreement of principles. That’s why we had to do the summoning and the circle. Not because we wanted to hurt you, okay? It’s just been… hard to talk to you lately.”

Castiel rolls that explanation around his mind, observing it from different angles. “You were trying to rein me in?”

“Because you were going off the rails for a while there, yeah.” For a moment Dean’s pensiveness returns, the anger of earlier flaring up as he recalls whatever reasons he and Sam are reluctant to elaborate on. “Oh come on, Cas, like you’ve never had to force someone’s hand before. You’re a soldier, you know what I’m talking about. Sometimes people… wander off the path. You gotta put them back on.”

“I see.” Castiel nods. “You are soldier as well. That is something we have in common.”

“Uh.” Dean starts a little, suddenly uncertain. Sam is frowning, but he’s unimportant next to the way Dean’s eyes have gone storm-cloud gray and worried. “I guess.”

“Is that it?” Castiel asks.

Dean starts. “What?”

“Is that it?” Castiel says again. “I’m trying to understand why I’d care enough to inflict this upon myself.”

Dean’s mouth open and closes. Sam offers carefully, “Dean. Cas said he cast the spell himself. Maybe this is his way of saying he’s sorry.”

“What?” Dean turns to his brother. “You’re saying that Cas erased his own memory so he wouldn’t have to deal with his bullshit?”

“Yeah,” Sam says dryly, “I wonder where he’d get that idea.”

Dean’s shove at Sam isn’t kind at all. Sam flails backward from the force of it, surprise and hurt flashing across his face, but he doesn’t get a word of protest in before Dean’s snarling at Castiel, “You know what, I wouldn’t even be surprised if that’s what you did, Cas. You would take the chicken shit way out.”

“Fine,” Castiel replies calmly. “So you believe that I’ve betrayed you. What is the value of it?”

“The what?”

“The _value_ , what is the value of this betrayal?” Castiel snaps. “Did you lose an important weapon? A strategic location? Information?”

“It was…” Dean hesitates. “You were working behind our backs, undermining us at every corner and lying to our faces.”

To argue would waste more time, so Castiel merely nods. “What was the purpose of this work I was doing?”

“You were…” Dean shares another glance with his brother, who shrugs and makes a _proceed_ gesture. “You were trying to… Fine, you were trying to stop the end of the world but you were doing it the wrong way. You were sneaking around, tricking us—”

“Was my strategy sound?” Castiel presses.

Dean sets his jaw. “Not at the price you were paying for it. No.”

“Collateral damage is unfortunate—”

“No.” Dean’s only human but he darts forward like a snake, his hands on the lapels of Jimmy’s jacket and bared teeth in Castiel’s face. “You don’t get to call my brother collateral damage.” He crowds in close, arrogant and angry. “Who the hell do you think you are, shitting on friendship like it’s fucking collateral damage my fucking ass.”

“Friendship?” Castiel frowns. “What friendship?”

“What do you mean what…” Dean’s gone very still. There is surprise in his eyes, but there are also other things that Castiel doesn’t have the inclination to dissect and name.

“Ah,” Sam says quietly. “I think we missed something.”

  
  


* * *

 

The atmosphere in Bobby’s house is tense. That’s where they are, apparently, the Winchester brothers and their friend gearing up for an upcoming siege on the Crowley stronghold.

Castiel could be grateful that they have decided to share this information with him, and have allowed him out of the so-called panic room since he is physically limited, but these concessions are paltry. They’re still weaseling around him, talking in terms that they know Castiel can’t understand, and mostly ignoring him when he asks for clarification.

“We’re trying to help you,” they keep saying, when what they mean is that they’re trying to help themselves. Castiel could get the answers he wants but the infernal binding lock limits him to trailing after Dean instead. Like a pet.

Dean doesn’t even do anything more interesting than gathering weapons. Bobby, at least, is doing research in his library and Sam is fetching supplies from outside the house. Dean, however, remains at his table, checking his ammunition and doing what Castiel’s heard Bobby refer to as, “minding the angel”. Again, like a pet.

“You think it’s impossible?” Dean looks up from his shotgun shells. “Is it really that strange to you?”

Castiel has walked with humans before, albeit a long time ago and in limited capacity. He imagines applying a term like camaraderie to those relationships, trying to picture spending long bouts of time with them the way he’s done with Uriel, Rachel, Balthazar. “Not impossible. Unlikely.”

“Unlikely’s right.” Dean smiles down at his hands. “I’m not sure how it happened, actually.”

“First reasonable thing you’ve said.”

Castiel silently watches Dean work for a while. It’s still disconcerting that Dean would take his eyes off of Castiel as he does this. You do not turn away from a stranger, let alone a threat, but apparently this isn’t something new for him.

“Maybe you can’t picture it,” Dean says, “but we’ve fought together, laughed together… freaking saved the world together, even. You saved my ass more than once. I tried to return the favor where I could.”

“That’s interesting.” Castiel pulls out the chair opposite Dean, sitting down when Dean doesn’t protest. “It is.”

The room is quiet again. Dean eyes are dark and inscrutable as he studies Castiel, and Castiel knows that he’s searching for the friend he wants to see in Castiel’s place. At least Castiel now knows why Dean isn’t afraid of him, probably hasn’t been afraid of him for a while.

“You’ve got to help us,” Dean confides in a low voice. “We need to find Eleanor and take out Crowley. It’d mean a lot to me if you’ll be on our side.”

Interesting choice of words, that. Castiel is on their side; not that they are on his.

To believe Dean’s story is to believe everything else that comes with it. Castiel’s faith is not so easily rattled, no matter what broken puzzle pieces this reality keeps pushing at him. This time, however, he chooses to be truthful.

“Amnesia for an angel is…” Castiel struggles for terms a human can understand, “the death of self. I would be accepting that I’m dead, or part me is dead.”

Dean stifles his laughter. “ _That’s_ your argument? I hate to break it to you, Cas, but you _have_ died, more than once, and it wasn’t pretty. Two, we have stuck it to the Man’s plan and rules in ways you can’t even imagine. You – _we_ have changed the world, Cas. We’ve saved the world and threw the book in its face and there isn’t even a book anymore so we’re making it up—”

“Stop.” Castiel takes a deep breath, using the momentary pause to drag patience out from the reserves he knows he has. “You keep misunderstanding me. The world is governed by rules, Dean, a great many of which are beyond your comprehension. They cannot be discarded, so it doesn’t matter even if I _want_ to believe you. I can’t believe you.”

Some good memory has Dean smirking at him. “You said you couldn’t do a lot of things, Cas. You proved me wrong almost every step of the way.”

“To my own destruction, if your description is to be believed,” Castiel retorts. “That doesn’t seem to make any of it worthwhile.” He isn’t surprised when that hits a nerve. Dean draws up like a mountain bracing for an earthquake, and Castiel’s compelled enough to add: “You disagree?”

Dean’s smile is abruptly humorless. “Just trying to remind myself that you haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”

“You’re angry.”

“That’s not useful right now.”

“That really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Castiel observes. Dean’s face continues to be animated and incomprehensible. “Not so much what you believe I was doing, but _how_ I was doing it. You must think so highly of yourself.”

Dean’s scowl deepens. “What?”

“You must think highly of yourself,” Castiel says, slower this time. “So much so that you think I should take it, and you, into account.”

“That’s what friends _do_ ,” Dean hisses.

“Well, _I_ am not your friend.” Castiel sits back calmly. There is something bizarrely fascinating in watching Dean gape at that one. “Who are you to me?”

If Dean were a supernatural being, he would have harnessed that clearly visible anger to some physical purpose. He is piqued, vexed, annoyed, and all too-human. Castiel knew – knows – that the Righteous Man is but a man, with petty flaws and vices to match the number of hairs on his head, but it’s entirely different to observe it up close.

“It’s funny,” Dean says sardonically, “I ask myself the same question all the damn time these days.”

“So you don’t know?”

“Fuck you!” Dean snaps, with such vehemence that Castiel starts in surprise. “You’re a goddamn yellow-tailed turncoat dick who brings the world down on his fucking _family_ the minute it’s inconvenient.”

Castiel has the feeling he should stay silent and let this momentary burst subside, but he cannot help saying, “You say that as though you expect it to hurt me. You _want_ to hurt me.”

“Yeah,” Dean says hoarsely. “Yeah, I want to hurt you.”

Castiel wishes his true sight weren’t banked. Then he could see past the green of Dean’s eyes, and perhaps pull out something that he could use. As it is, all Castiel knows for sure is that Dean persists in trying to see someone else when he looks at Castiel. Maybe he’s a masochist, and enjoys setting himself up for disappointment.

Someone clears their throat. It’s Sam, who’s standing in the open doorway, fidgeting with a piece of cloth.

“Hey,” Sam says weakly. “Um. We’re almost ready to go.” He takes a hesitant step towards them, looking almost hopeful. “You know, I was just thinking. If Cas really did cast that spell on himself, it’s probably because he thought that was the only way he could think of to help us. Maybe he panicked? Maybe something went wrong with Crowley.”

“What,” Dean says mockingly, “now you’re saying he did this to himself to _help_ us?”

“What happened the last time you saw him, Dean?” Sam asks. “It was at the hospital, wasn’t it? With Lisa? What did you say to him?”

“What I’ve been saying to him since we got all the cards on the table. I told him to stop.”

“And look what’s happened.” Sam gestures at Cas awkwardly. “He’s stopped.”

“What are you even,” Dean hisses. “You were the one who said we gotta take him down and now you’re vouching for him?”

Sam shrugs. “Like I said, it looks to me that he took himself down. We _are_ allowed reevaluate, Dean.”

“I can’t even stay fucking mad at him!” Dean gestures wildly at Castiel. “He’s not even the right Cas! Cas is… the Cas that fucked us over is…”

“Gone,” Castiel offers. “You should be relieved.”

Dean glares at him. “Shut up.”

“Maybe his memories are somewhere in there,” Sam suggests. He glances at Castiel when he says it, and perhaps he is easier to read than his brother because Castiel instantly knows that Sam doesn’t really believe what he’s saying. The optimism is purely for Dean’s benefit. “Like Anna? She remembered eventually.”

So Sam’s trying to steer Dean towards a more productive goal. Castiel would approve of this if he couldn’t also smell something of Hell wafting off of Sam. It’s not the sulfur of demon blood, exactly, but something else that Castiel in his reduced state cannot pinpoint, let alone manage.

Maybe this just isn’t the right time. This unexplained tangle is not Castiel’s problem, so it’s best to focus on something more real. “Tell me about this demon,” Castiel says.

“Crowley?” Sam turns to Castiel. “You want to know about Crowley?”

“You said that you needed me for something to do with Crowley. Tell me what it is.”

“Why?” Dean says skeptically.

“So that I can _help_ you,” Castiel sighs. “Isn’t that what this is about?”

Sam already looks hopeful, but Dean vetoes him with a sharp, “You don’t even believe what I’ve been telling you.”

“That’s true,” Castiel says, “but it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t…?” Dean rises to his feet, fists bracing on the table – a commander trying to regain control over the situation.  “Of course it _matters_ , Cas. We need to be able to count on you.”

“ _Dean_.” Castiel lets a scratch of his true voice through, just enough to rattle the window and make Dean go quiet. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. I will help you.”

“Why?”

“Because there is great purpose in your resurrection,” Castiel says calmly. “That is something I believe in that you apparently don’t. And as there is purpose in your rising, there may be purpose in my being here. I am patient. I’m willing to see where this goes.”

“That’s not…” Dean stops when Sam touches his shoulder, another wordless conversation passing when the brothers look at each other. Eventually Dean concedes with a gruff, “Fine, whatever.”

It’s dismissive, but Dean’s acceptance of Castiel’s faith is… gratifying. Especially since how so much of what Dean thinks of Castiel has so far been wrong.

Unexpected excitement stirs inside Castiel. So far Dean Winchester has been little more than petulant and recalcitrant, but there must – there simply _must_ – be more to him. Heaven doesn’t make its choices lightly.

Maybe that’s why Castiel is here.

  
  


* * *

 

The Winchesters don’t tell him much. Dean and Sam dole out their plan in paper-thin wedges in between gathering their weapons and preparing to move. Bobby adds nothing to their exposition, but hovers defensively around the Winchesters, ready to strike Castiel if necessary.

The Winchesters’ target is the King of the Crossroads. The demon has a plan (demons _always_ have plans) to hoard power for his own purposes, and the Winchesters wish to stop him. Part of this effort is the breaking into of Crowley’s physical home base, and Castiel’s powers should be able to help them gain access.

Castiel may be used to receiving sparse instructions – Heaven has always guarded its secrets closely – but this is asinine.

Not to mention that the Winchesters’ reluctance to share appears to be due to reasons that still aren’t clear. Castiel would understand if it were simply a matter of his being a compromised ally at best and a stranger at worst, but Castiel keeps catching snippets of a hushed conversation between the brothers, the meaning of which eludes him.

Such as Sam’s, “Think about it. You remember what Cas used to be like. You think he’d buy what’s been going on?”

To which Dean replied, “Yeah, it took him ages to give you the time of day. Thought it’s not like you could help it, you were too busy being an abomination. Hey, no, you’re right. He doesn’t trust us already, we should just… we’ll deal with him later.”

“Crowley first?”

“Crowley first.”

That said, Uriel would certainly approve of any mission to take out a demon, no matter how minor said demon’s role in the Great Plan.

“You wish for me to smite the entire compound?” Castiel asks once the humans are all gathered and ready. “That’s the entirety of it?”

“That’s a _start_ ,” Bobby snarls at him. “You still got a lot to answer—”

“Later, Bobby,” Dean says, far too quickly. He turns to Castiel. “It’s good, though, right? You’re not all juiced up but you can still do it? We just need to find Visyak, get her out, and then Crowley’s crew is officially toast.”

Castiel accepts the order with a nod. He could be being offended at Dean’s commanding him so easily, but there’s satisfaction at hearing Dean’s acknowledgement of what Castiel can actually do. A nest of demons should be easy enough to dispatch, aside from whatever detail that Dean has failed to tell him about.

“Are you expecting Cas to zap all of us there?” Bobby asks. “Can I shoot that one down before one of you dumbasses suggest it?”

“It’s the fastest way,” Sam says mildly.

“We drive,” Dean says firmly. “All of us, together.” He shoots Castiel a challenging look, but Castiel merely inclines his head.

There’s no point in arguing.

Castiel waits until everyone’s settled in their seats – Bobby tucked to the door and as far away from Castiel as possible – and unfolds his other hands. The radio screams an electronic protest when Castiel shoves his second set of palms through the floor of the car, pushing just hard enough to send the car slipping sideways through space.

“The fuck!” Dean yells. It’s a smooth landing, taking barely the blink of an eye. Through a veil of trees they can see the lit windows of the building that is Crowley’s hideaway. Dean turns in his seat, barking, “Cas, what did you do?”

“You’re welcome.” Castiel exits the car, leaving the others to their argument.

Out here Castiel can see the stars. His eyesight is limited in this form but one glance is still enough to confirm that the date they claim is true. Castiel is not when he should be.

Angry footsteps approach, followed by Dean’s growling, “You could have told us you were going to do that.”

Castiel gestures at the building ahead. “It’s warded against angels. I can deal with the demons onpatrol, but I can’t predict what’s within those walls. Considering recent events, I wouldn’t dare predict anything.”

“But once we get you in, you’re good to go, right?”

“In theory. Yes.”

“Cas.” Dean comes to stand in front of him. Castiel knows what this is; has done it many times with members of his own garrison, has sat for such speeches with Anna and Zachariah in the past. Castiel listens when Dean says, “I’m counting on you to have our backs. No matter what’s going on between you and me, or you and Sam, this is bigger than all of us.”

“Understood,” Castiel says.

“Can I have your word?” Dean’s watching him very closely. “Promise me.”

Castiel automatically touches his wrist, where the binding magic is still holding firm. “Isn’t it enough to know that I can’t flee?”

“No, it isn’t.”

How odd that he’s asking for loyalty from a creature he barely knows. Castiel marks this down on the growing list of items that he’s learning about Dean Winchester, and out loud he says, “Then I promise to do what is necessary to settle this case.”

“And when it’s done, we’ll help you get your feet back on the ground. Uh, that’s a human expression. I know you got wings under there.”

Castiel is bewildered. “All right.”

“Don’t go, is what I’m saying.” Dean’s hand is tight on the vessel’s shoulder as he presses for an answer to a question Castiel hasn’t heard. “We can fix it.”

This is an inappropriate place to have a minor revelation, but some things can’t be helped. This is a miracle, and Castiel is struck with disappointment that he doesn’t know how it ended up this way. Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, feels loyalty towards Castiel. This is something Castiel actually wants – for Heaven, of course – and he _has_ it, when he has no idea what he’d done to earn it.

Dean is angry, furious, and willing to lay punishment for supposed crimes Castiel doesn’t completely understand, but beyond that there is an attachment that has potential to supersede that anger. Dean wants to believe that he can forgive Castiel.

“That’s commendable of you to offer,” Castiel tells him.

Dean snorts, but double-takes when he sees Castiel’s expression. “Right. Right, Castiel doesn’t do sarcasm.”

  
  


* * *

 

Demons, Castiel knows how to deal with. The ones guarding the building are of low rank, some of them pretending to be soldiers when they have no idea what that means. They are dispatched easily, opening the way for Dean, Sam and Bobby to make their siege.

“Take point with Sam,” Dean tells Castiel.

They eventually find a room that appears to be a place of activity, though it is empty now. The ceiling is high and the walls are grey, but its most distinct features are the implements of questioning that must have been wielded by Crowley’s hand. There’s blood on the floor, none of it human.

Eleanor Visyak is strapped to a table. Castiel knows that that’s her because Bobby cries out her name as he rushes to her side, hands flailing and helpless as he tries to decide which bleeding to stop first.

Castiel approaches cautiously, mindful to stay behind the Winchesters. He finds himself surreptitiously watching Dean, who is grim but steady, his eyes not lingering on any of the instruments. A small relief, then, though who knows where else Hell has left its marks on him.

“You.” Visyak is staring at Castiel. Her eyes have the defiant anger similar to a great many demons Castiel’s crossed paths with before. “Come back to finish me off?”

“We’re gonna get you out of here,” Bobby promises, gesturing for Dean and Sam to deal with her restraints. They move to the task swiftly, but this just seems to upset Visyak, who twists and protests. Bobby tries to soothe her with, “It’s a long story. Let’s just make like a tree first, how about that?”

“But that’s—” Visyak stops, distracted by the pain in her abdomen.

This could be an obvious piece of information, but Castiel feels he should share it anyway. “This is an Eldritch creature. This is your friend?”

“This really isn’t the time to start judging, Cas,” Dean snaps.

“You looking at this?” Bobby yells at Castiel. “You looking at what you’ve done?”

“This is my doing?” Castiel scowls while they release the final straps, Bobby’s arms out to catch Visyak when she stumbles. “I performed torture here? You said this was Crowley’s stronghold.” Castiel grabs Dean’s arm when he gets no response. “Explain this to me, Dean.”

Dean makes an exasperated sound. “It’s a long story.”

“I don’t care,” Castiel says. “I’m not taking you away from here until I know what’s going on.”

Bobby scoffs and tightens his hold around Visyak. “I ain’t got a problem doing it the old-fashioned way, angel.”

“Well,” says a new voice, “this is unexpected.”

They turn to the arrival.

Castiel’s never had dealings with the King of the Crossroads before, but that’s because Crowley is a negotiator, not a warrior. Castiel’s battles go up against those who come against Heaven with brute force. In contrast, Crowley and his subordinates are in charge of recruitment, and Heaven has never made any attempt to stop the siphoning of human souls to Hell’s army. Free will, et cetera.

“Back so soon?” Crowley’s addressing _Castiel_ , the smirk on his face indicating some sleazy familiarity. “You went running for the cavalry? I’m surprised they didn’t cut you down where you stood.”

“Burn him,” Dean says.

Finally, a command that makes sense.

Castiel steps forward with one hand at the ready, but Crowley jumps with a quick, “What? You forgot about Raphael already? You think these mooks can help you where it counts?” He backs up when Castiel doesn’t stop, bumping into a trolley and almost stumbling. The startled confusion on his face is almost comical. “Hey, hey, we made a deal, what are you doing, you backstabbing whore, I got the blood, I fucking got it!”

Castiel gets a hand around Crowley’s neck. “What blood?”

“The blood! To open the door to Purgatory!” Crowley yells. “Are you brain-damaged? Did you choke on someone’s dick?”

“Bring me this blood,” Castiel says, ignoring Dean’s warning growl at his back. “And you may be spared.”

“What are they doing here?” Crowley’s eyes dart to the others. “What’s your game, angel? You trying to play both sides? That won’t work, you’ve picked your bed so you damn well—” He chokes when Castiel squeezes, smoke rising off the skin of his neck.

“I’m going to kill you,” Castiel tells him, “Unless you tell me where this blood is right now.”

“It’s like you don’t like me or something.” Crowley hisses when Castiel tightens his grip. “It’s here, it’s _right here_ , fuck.” He pulls out a nondescript jar of blood from inside his coat.

Castiel plucks the container from Crowley’s shaking hand. The blood is important, but it’s not a weapon in itself. It’s just an ingredient among other ingredients, used for Eldritch magic no demon has any right to own.

A rustle of wings heralds another arrival in the room. Castiel looks up.

Standing in front of him is Castiel.

There are two Castiels in the room.

“The hell?” Dean says.

Castiel takes a step away from the foreigner with his face. The other angel – because it _is_ an angel – narrows his eyes, focused wholly on the treasure in Castiel’s hands.

Crowley says slowly, “Just for the record, this isn’t _my_ fantasy.”

The angel says, in a voice that is a mirror of Castiel’s, “You have something of mine. You will give it to me now.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, careful not to take his eyes off his doppelganger. “Explain this to me.”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” Dean replies shrilly. “Can’t you see what it is?”

“I can.” But that information doesn’t help, because what Castiel sees is a mirror of himself. The other angel is wearing an identical copy of Jimmy’s body, and although it’s true that a body can be faked, the angel’s real face is clearly visible behind it. Castiel is unsettled. “It’s… me?”

Dean gapes at the new arrival. “Cas, that you?”

Castiel hisses, “Don’t talk to him!” The longer he studies the other angel, the more he sees, the more troubling it is. There is age in that secondary Cas’ face; age that matches the story Dean and Sam have been telling him. The other one – _Cas_ – isn’t looking at Dean at all, which to Castiel speaks volumes. “You said yourself, he is not to be trusted.”

The other angel raises his hand, snatching the binding chain out from the air and holding it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. The length of it glints with power and he tugs it, once, before letting go. Blue eyes meet blue when the angel says to Castiel, “I’ll break this if you give that to me.”

Eleanor coughs. “He needs the blood to open the door to Purgatory.”

Castiel strengthens his hold on the jar. “Why? Purgatory only houses the souls of the relinquished.”

“He wants to use them,” Dean says flatly. “Cas thinks he can control them.”

“It’s not about _control_ ,” the other Cas growls, with such loose emotion that Castiel takes an involuntary step back. “It’s about advantage. Raphael is an Archangel, I am not. I can’t stand against him alone.”

Castiel is still confused. “Why would you want to—”

“We are the same person, Castiel,” his doppelganger says levelly. “We have the same beliefs, the same goals. You can see who I am, and you need to trust yourself. You need to trust _me_.” He opens his hand, beckoning. “I want what you want.”

Crowley makes a sound of delighted surprise. “Oh, I get it. _You_ —” he looks at the other Cas, “—snatched _him_ —” he looks at Castiel, “—so that he would keep Abbot and Costello busy while we set up our party. Though why you’d have to go through all the trouble, I have no idea, you could’ve just ripped down that wall in Sam’s head—”

“Not now,” Cas says quietly. “There are immense things at stake here, Castiel. We know urgency, so when I say that this is important, you know it’s true. Please. Give that to me.”

Dean starts to speak, only to choke on nothing. Castiel dare not takes his eyes off his mirror image, but he can sense that Dean’s voice has been forcefully muted. That’s a skill only higher ranking angels have, so this Cas, this _other_ , must be more powerful than Castiel is now. Sam and Bobby have edged closer to the wall, Eleanor carried between them, so that leaves Castiel facing Cas alone.

Castiel doesn’t react when Cas takes a handful of slow steps in approach. The past hours roll around in Castiel’s head, so many incomplete angles for a lock Castiel can’t even see in its entirety.

“Are you Dean’s friend?” Castiel asks.

Cas stills. His vessel’s face isn’t as animated as Dean’s, but that is still surprise in the blue of Jimmy’s eyes. “What has that to do with anything?”

“I need to know,” Castiel says. “Say it.”

Now Cas is uncomfortable, and visibly trying to hide it. “That is… that’s irrelevant.”

“But he trusted you,” Castiel continues. “Yet you don’t act like that matters. Or even happened at all. Explain this to me.”

Cas’ faces – all of them – twitch. “That’s not important—”

“But it is,” Castiel insists. “You say we’re the same, but how can be true? Your history isn’t mine. I don’t know what you believe, or what you want.”

Sam speaks up suddenly: “Souls are power.” He flattens himself against the wall when Cas glares at him.

“But that is…” Castiel scowls at the blood jar, at Crowley, at the gnawing sense of wrongness the longer the other Cas remains in his presence.

Forbidden Eldritch magic combined with an apparent conspiracy with a demon is simple enough to understand, leaving Castiel’s next course of action relatively clear. He holds up the glass container, popping the lid open with a firm psychic nudge.

Castiel’s powers may be limited by the binding spell, but he can certainly set a jar of blood on fire.

So he does.

The other angel shouts. Castiel pulls Dean close and under his arm, shielding him from the shattered glass raining down from where the other Cas’ wings have snapped open. Cas’ horror is almost a tangible thing, a fist that would’ve snapped Castiel sideways if he hadn’t braced himself for it.

Crowley has disappeared, predictably saving his own skin. Dean’s voice has returned, and he’s yelling an order at his brother to flee when he can. As for Cas, he rushes for Castiel, all of his faces dark with intent.

Castiel raises his fists but Dean beats him to it, launching straight into the other angel’s path.

“Cas!” Dean stops just short of crashing into Cas outright. His hands can’t be effective shields but he manages to block Cas anyway, leading into a strange dance where Cas tries to side-step him only to be denied by a persistent human. “Cas, you gotta stop. It’s done, it’s over! Stand the fuck down!”

“Who’s going to stop Raphael now?” Cas yells. He tries to push Dean’s hands off of him, but he doesn’t seem to be trying very hard. “You?”

“Yes!” Dean bellows. “We’ll find a way to fight him together! Like we’ve always done! Why the hell can’t you trust me anymore?”

Castiel is mesmerized. This other Cas has been warped, corruption slipping like oil all over his person. Cas is tainted by new power that he wields around himself like an extra set of wings, and that’s only what Castiel can see with his currently limited sight. Perhaps most startling of all is the way Cas changes when he looks at Dean; anger and shame and fear dancing across his faces.

Cas hisses, “You wish to talk about trust?”

“You gonna hit me, Cas?” Dean growls. “Come on then, you fuckhead, got none of the sense God gave you—”

Cas moves fast, grabbing the binding chain that links Castiel and Dean together.

Castiel manages to shout, “Dean!” but it does little to prepare them for the way power slams into them both. Castiel is an angel but Dean is not; a blink and he’s moved to Dean’s side, a hand clamped around Dean’s wrist to take the brunt of the magical impact.

This power is like tamed lightning. It smells, a little like ozone and a lot like the exact same magic Castiel had observed earlier when he’d first arrived in this peculiar place, inside Dean’s trapping circle. Soul magic.

This angel named Cas has already infused himself with souls.

Dean has been offering forgiveness and Cas the Other still stands there, arrogant and pretending so hard that he’s free of conscience. He doesn’t even spare a glance to where Dean is coughing on the floor.

No wonder Dean had been so angry.

Castiel murmurs a prayer under his breath, and then steps forward and punches his doppelganger. The other angel lets out a sound of surprise, eyes wide and eerily human when he’s thrown backward against trolleys and trays. He doesn’t get too far, though, because Castiel stays on him, delivering one fist after another.

Castiel can’t say he’d ever wondered what it would be like to grapple with a version of his future self, but it _has_ been an unusual day. His mirror image should in theory have the upper hand, but the other angel is also tired, complacent, and wracked with emotions that make him vulnerable.

He only stops when Dean barrels forward, hands grabbing Castiel’s killing arm. “The _fuck_ are you doing?”

“I’m finishing it,” Castiel says. He adjusts grip on the sword. “He is unclean.”

“He is _you_!” Dean yells.

“All the more reason that I should do this,” Castiel replies. Dean may be a hunter but he doesn’t have it in him for a mercy killing. Not when his friend, Cas, has managed to come this far without being stopped. As far as Castiel can tell, Dean’s plan had merely been to _trap_ him and _talk_ , and what would that accomplish? “There’s only been one other angel who’s changed himself as much as this one.”

“It’s nice when the world is that simple,” Cas replies, blood trailing from his lips. “Enjoy it while you can.”

“Shut it, Cas,” Dean snaps. “Castiel, I order you stand down.”

Castiel tightens his hold on Cas’ head. “There’s only one fate for a traitor.”

“But this is _my_ call,” Dean says. He’s moved to stand in front of Castiel, the order clear in his glare. “Cas, everything I’ve told you today is true. Cas is… He’s my responsibility.”

Dean’s not being as helpful as he thinks he is, of course. He hasn’t been clear at all about his agenda, save his insistence that he wants to save _and_ punish his friend. Whatever that entails.

Castiel looks down at Cas, whose eyes are wary but clear of fear. Castiel’s never feared death, and there’s some pleasure in seeing that this future version of himself has not changed there, at least, so in this moment they are kindred. Then the moment passes, and Castiel decides after all of the questions he’s been asking today, it probably wouldn’t help to push for all the answers.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says. Under his hand, Cas benignly gazes back up at him. “You love Dean, yet you do this.”

Cas’ expression doesn’t change, not even when Castiel lets go and he crumples forward a heap. Dean’s on him immediately, of course, snarling platitudes along the line, “You stupid asshole, what the fuck were you thinking,” that makes Castiel back away.

The world freezes. A gray tint falls upon everything in his immediate sight, all the figures in the room save Castiel himself frozen.

“Ah,” Castiel says.

There is a new presence behind him. He turns and says, “Sisters.”

Atropos and Clotho are standing there, each carrying their books of record. Clotho is tall and her eyes dark, Atropos fair and more human in appearance. Castiel reevaluates recent events; the Fates have their own, more stringent, rules and never come to Earth without purpose. Castiel bows his head in respect, to which Clotho nods an acknowledgement.

“This was a test,” Castiel says slowly. “You’re showing me what could be.”

The Fates’ faces do not change. This must be very serious.

Clotho says, “There is an imbalance, and we are here to fix it. Atropos.”

Atropos steps forward. With a wave of her pen, the binding chain is transferred from Castiel’s wrist to that of his doppelganger’s. It’s normal for Atropos to be more tense in the company of either of older sisters, but the hard line of her mouth makes Castiel think, oddly enough, of Dean’s face earlier today when he hadn’t wanted to tell Castiel anything of use.

“This is a test, isn’t it?” Castiel tries again, a little uncertain now. “I’m aware of Zachariah’s methods of putting us into hypothetical scenarios to test our decisions and resolve. I thought this test was his, but if it’s yours, then… Am I still worthy of making contact with Dean Winchester?”

Clotho’s sneer is chilling. “You will be returned from whence you came.”

Atropos meets Castiel’s gaze hesitantly. “It’ll be all right.”

“Did I pass?” Castiel presses. He almost backs away from the look Clotho gives him, but this is important. “I will not become him.” He gestures as the fallen Cas, still half-wrapped in Dean’s arms. “I see the danger, I understand the lesson you wished to teach me here.”

“Do as you must.” Clotho nods at Atropos. “Settle this.”

Atropos comes forward, touching her hand to his before the world shifts around them. They land on different, firm ground, just the two of them, Clotho gone to her business elsewhere.

The night sky is calm above their heads. Better than that is the overwhelming sense of rightness that fills Castiel, like cool water through all his sense. Balance has been restored, freedom back in his ears and ears.

Castiel looks at the barn beyond. Dean Winchester and Bobby Singer are inside, waiting for him. “So I’m still allowed to pursue this task.”

“Just.” Atropos is inscrutable even at the best of times, but her expression is intense. “Have faith, Castiel. Everything has its own path.”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “I see what the consequences will be if I let myself be moved by him. I will be humble to the cause and ensure that the Morning Star not rise.” He nods at Atropos gratefully. “Thank you for your lessons, Atropos. I see that I have a great deal of work to do with Dean.”

Atropos’ smile is strange, as is her parting statement of, “You do that, Castiel.”

Heaven’s many factions keep their own secrets. Castiel understands the necessity of this, and so at this point chooses to do the most with what he has been given. Today, he has learned that they cannot underestimate Dean, and must do their best to prepare him for the road ahead.

Peace spreads through Castiel’s self. Tomorrow there will be battles to fight, but today he meets Dean Winchester. He turns to the barn, spreading his wings to rattle the small building in declaration of his arrival.

It’s almost a pleasure when Dean stabs him with the demon’s knife.

It’s even more a pleasure when Dean spits, “I figured that much, but _what_ are you?” with sublime fear and awe.

“I’m an angel of the Lord.”

“There’s no such thing.”

The declaration is meant as a challenge, but it is one that Castiel accepts willingly. If Dean believes there is no such thing, then Castiel can teach him what it means from the roots up, and he will not become the doubting man with delusions of familiarity that he’d seen in the Fates’ proposed reality. Castiel will do right by his mission, and Dean Winchester shall be comforted by his role in the Great Plan. Which he will learn in due time, of course, because there’s no need to overwhelm him all at once.

“That is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.”

Castiel is an angel of the Lord. His cause is just, he is ready, and he will be watching Dean very closely.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for A Crash Course in Someone Else's History](https://archiveofourown.org/works/566196) by [Moonlite_Knight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlite_Knight/pseuds/Moonlite_Knight)




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